


Feathers

by animasevera



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-07
Updated: 2015-12-07
Packaged: 2018-05-05 11:37:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5373899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/animasevera/pseuds/animasevera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anders gets a much-needed break from writing his manifesto.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Feathers

_Scratch. Scratch. Scratch._

The only sound in the room was the tip of Anders’ quill, softly scrawling more lines of his manifesto onto the fresh parchment. His writing hand became the residence of a cramp that tightened around the nerves of his wrist. When the twinges of pain nearly made him surrender to his body’s need for rest, Justice wrapped around his hand and kept it moving - their virtue demanded satisfaction. His belly growled for want of something to fill it, a perpetual reminder of the reason he had to keep writing, for the mages across Thedas who were languishing in dungeons, much like he once did before his last escape attempt. His pen scratched deeper into the paper, turning his growing need into impassioned demands for freedom, even as the candelight became a blurry halo in his exhausted eyes and Hawke’s bed called to him. Duty to his cause weighed heavy in his bones, making his back arch until it, too, ached. Out of habit, he flared out a fume of what little mana he had left to try to ease his pain, but it fizzled into nothingness and left him slumping and sighing.

He had been in far worse pain than this many times before. To call this pain at all was an injustice to the agony of so many other mages, including the young man in Kinloch Hold’s dungeons that was once himself. Even now, though, he still could not accept the idea that the one who spent a year in solitary confinement, starved half to death and tormented by voices, was him. 

No, he was still alive. He now had the support from a woman he would never deserve. He now had a comfortable bed to sleep in, and a promise of safety. There were too many out there still who would never be so lucky. He _knew_ this.

There were still mages out there living in terror of shining steel armor emblazoned with the Sword of Mercy.

There were still mages out there being forced by desperation into the clutches of demons.

There were mages out there being threatened with Tranquility as punishment for their disobedience, and the threats were being made good upon.

Mages who had attempted to flee, but knew nothing of the outside world and were forced to return to their prison out of need for sustenance and shelter.

Mages who only desired to find the families they were torn from.

Mages who only wanted to see the sun.

Anders lowered his head onto the desk, dropping the pen from his hands and curling his arms over his head. His spine chilled and buckled with an ache from the burdens he was shouldering. Just at the edge of his perception, he could hear that familiar clanking of silvered steel boots, just as his deprived stomach let out another demand for his attention. Justice writhed and recoiled, forcing his vessel’s abdominal muscles to tighten. Bile was rising in the mage’s throat, which itself had gone dry with thirst.

The memory was still as fresh as newly-spilled blood. There was a time when these feelings would last for days, or even be perpetual. The thought of it twisted his nerves to tightening, and his gut into churning. That, in turn, brought to mind the memory of his own voice, screaming at the darkness between the cold, dank walls.

He remembered when he failed to escape. When they caught him for the sixth and last time. He was so distracted by the lure of a warm bed that he didn’t consider the fact that the Templars often set such traps for tired, famished apostates. He went to sleep in a cozy bedroll and woke up with magic-restricting irons on his wrists and a rag full of magebane in his mouth. The memory made Justice burn under his skin, and he nearly felt the urge to gag.

Both of them twisted around and through each other, though, at the next of the flashbacks to strike. By this time, it should have been predictable. The room dimmed somewhat, from the draft in the air making the light of the oil lamp dance. Anders screwed his eyes shut even tighter to fight off the unwanted flickering. Maker, he felt so weak, like he hadn’t eaten or slept for days - which, in all fairness, he had scarcely done. His nerves were starved of mana and shot from anxiety - forming sentences for the manifesto was a task too complex for his fraying mind. Forming sentences at all was nearly beyond his grasp.

A chill in the air took the light of the oil lamp with it. When Anders looked up, he found himself in the dark - instantly, he could feel his heart start to pound in his chest. The familiar boot-clanking grew louder, increasing in pace as the veins in his temples throbbed. 

“…No…” he muttered, trying to shake off the oncoming wave of ghosts from his past, a rapid-fire flashing of images that sank into his bones. He let out a small cry of frustration and mounting panic as he felt control over his mind slipping out of his grasp and into the fingers of his inner demons.

Then came the visions from his nightmares - the Tranquil brand dancing behind his eyelids, branding the foreheads of Karl and Hawke. Already, he had all too vividly imagined Lys’ formerly sharp, passionate voice becoming flat and dead, the strong arms that once embraced him now hanging limply at her sides, or tending to a stall of wares. She would look at him, but not see him. She would call him a rebel and a maleficar.

Abomination.

_Monster._

Anders’ scream carried throughout the house, and tears were now flooding his eyes. He sank to his knees on the floor, burying his face in his hands as tremors took him over.

The echo of his own anguish brought an even harsher thought to his mind - if they got a hold of him, they would take away even his ability to shed tears, or to cry out in grief. They would, given the chance, quite literally tear out his heart, and with it, his passion for his craft and his love for her. He, too, would be an empty shell.

All he could do now was curl up on the floor, reduced to feeble, silent sobbing. His tears glazed the surfaces of his eyes, stinging and blurring his vision.

Justice burned acrid in the pit of his gut, growing to fill the space in his chest and pushing out further for the use of his arms. Slowly, he curled them around the shivering mage until he had himself in a sort of embrace. Bony fingers pressed into shaking shoulders, gently stroking the feathers there.

_Feathers._

Anders’ eyes widened at the feeling, and he curled his fingers into the soft down.

He remembered a time - it seemed so long ago, yet felt like yesterday - when he didn’t have these feathers on his shoulders. When he was either running or in chains, the usual fate of an apostate.

Whether long ago, or yesterday, he at least knew it wasn’t _now._ Now, he had found refuge, even _sanctuary_ , in the least likely of places - with a fellow apostate, who shared his passion for the cause. Even more so, she wanted to be certain that the healer himself was in his best condition, something he was admittedly not the best at.

As his thoughts turned to Hawke, the mage released a heavy sigh. He never felt like he would ever deserve her. Yet, that didn’t even seem to matter to her. She was doing it because she wanted to.

A soft shudder suddenly went up his back, and the sensation soon spread to his shoulders and arms, a tingling warmth that seemed to envelop him. It felt like, for lack of better comparison, an embrace.

_Justice._

He tightened his own arms around himself, letting the spirit feel the warmth in his chest. His next sigh seemed to come from both of them, and he finally found the strength to get to his feet.

At least, until the headache set in. And the back ache. And the muscle aches. Every nerve in his body was fraying with pain that he had no mana to spare to heal. The mage sank back onto the bed, letting out a defeated whine. He was also fatigued and starved, so much that they were competing for his remaining attention. He was too tired to come downstairs and cook, but too hungry to lie there and sleep. The flashbacks were already threatening to come back, clawing at his gained ground.

There was only one way out of this, something he and Justice agreed upon. He let his own awareness slip into Justice’s faded shroud, the spirit filling his mortal’s form - and sensing his pain in much greater vividness. Instantly, he bolted upright and let out a roar of disorientation and agony.

Just as instantly, there was a thudding of feet up the stairs and the door slammed open, Hawke behind it and the room filling with the familiar notes of her presence. She was rather disheveled, having been cleaning up the den. Even so, her aura washed away much of Justice’s discomfort.

The spirit flushed a sigh of relief out of Anders’ lungs, sinking back into him as he realized their needs would be met. Anders’ vision returned to him, revealing the sight of Lysandra with her long blonde hair in a messy bun. Indeed, the sight of her took the sharpness from his pain. “Ah, love, you’re here. Justice thought he might have to take over just to get me downstairs.” He couldn’t hide the occasional moan or grunt from the burden of his body’s suffering.

Just one look at him was enough to make Hawke frown with worry. “Oh, Anders…” She took him into her arms without forcing him to sit up. With a soft sigh, she decided to spare him the lecture about taking care of himself and simply squeezed him gently. “Just relax, love. I’ll get you taken care of,” she reassured him, sealing the promise with a soft kiss to his temple, and another on his forehead. For that moment, she allowed him to find comfort in her embrace.

The mage let an arm lie over his lover’s shoulder, offering her a weak smile through the pain that needled his body all over. Somehow, the warmth of her closeness was able to dissolve away the worse pains. Alas, his empty stomach would not allow him to ignore it any longer. His eyes screwed shut for a moment, and he swallowed the bile that had tried to rise again. His gut seized and groaned, and he along with it.

“…Love,” he said, rather harshly, “As much as I would enjoy lying here with you and doing little else, I am _starving._ I swear to the Maker, if I don’t eat _something_ , Justice is going to kill me just so he doesn’t have to listen to my stomach anymore.” With that, he reluctantly removed himself from her arms and rose to his feet, cracking the stiffness from his burdened back.

Hawke didn’t know whether to smile or frown at first, but a small grin finally broke through, and she hugged him around the waist from behind. “Alright, alright,” she chided with a laugh like a crackling log fire. “I do remember what happened last time, after all.”

“Last time?” asked Anders, combing through his memories to try to find similar incidents. “…I remember being so tired I fell asleep…and then I woke up with a terrible stomachache.”

She couldn’t help but chuckle softly as she slid away from the bed. “Justice decided he was going to handle things himself and raided the larder.”

He would glare at Justice if he could, but the spirit chastised him for neglecting their vessel enough to force him into such a position. “Maker’s breath, you two, this is the closest to having parents I’ve been in forever.” With a soft sigh, he reminded himself he was cared for now and showed his gratitude by pulling Hawke close and kissing her cheek, just below an eyelash. The strength it took to do so, however, left him dizzy. “Ugh, love, I think I want to stay up here. I might fall down the stairs.”

Hawke’s cheeks flushed pink at the touch of his lips, and she held him in her arms to keep him steady. “Alright, then, I’ll be right back up…just don’t fall asleep on me, got it?” She returned the kiss, rising on her toes to do so, and headed downstairs.

Now alone again, Anders let himself collapse back onto the bed and sighed, wearily. He wanted so much to simply drift off to sleep, but his body’s need for sustenance simply would not let it happen. His imaginings were more pleasant, though - already, he was anticipating the aftermath of Hawke’s care - the two of them curled up in bed together, Justice settling into calm and Hawke using her magic to relieve his aches and pains. A feeling of gratitude to the Maker swelled in his chest for her presence, even as Justice reminded him they were all too lucky. This, Anders answered, was why he felt so grateful. Without her, they would certainly be much worse off.

Carefully, and with much resistance from his muscles and joints, he sloughed off his outer layers, leaving him wearing nothing but his trousers. The cool air was at first refreshing, but a draft made him shiver and grab his shoulders.

His bare shoulders. Bare, like they were left in the dungeons.

His bony, sharp shoulders. Thin, like they were from neglect.

The sensations of confinement soaked into his bones through his naked pores. He seized up the feathered jacket, sliding it back on and straightening the feathers.

Soft, warm feathers. His fingers spread out around the curves of his shoulders, squeezing them firmly. A relieved sigh spilled from his chest, and he lay back in the bed.

The wide, elegant bed, with plenty of room for him and then some. How lucky he was, to have it. To have Hawke.

He was feeling guilty now. It knotted in his belly, in the same place as the gnawing emptiness. Another sigh came out of him, this one in melancholy. Already, he wanted to sit at the desk again, to write more lines.

But the lines blurred into shapeless forms before he could form them into words. He shut his eyes, in an attempt to call them up from memory.

All he saw was the cold stone walls of a cell. The bile rose in his throat again. His eyes snapped open, and he stared at the ceiling, but it was no use flushing out the memory.

Justice was becoming restless now, almost as if thrashing against the bars he remembered clear as day. He seized control of the mage’s hands, tightening them over his arms, as if to hold him and calm him.

But it was less than enough, this time. He needed a real, mortal touch.

He needed Hawke. He needed the arms of his fellow mage, an act which itself defied the Chantry - an act of rebellion, of _freedom._

He needed her hands, with their sturdy fingers and burn scars everywhere, and the magic that danced from their tips.

He needed her arms, with their strong embrace. He needed her shoulders, broad enough for him to lean on.

He needed her lips and the soft words they spoke, and the language she spoke only through their touch.

And Maker, he needed her heart more than all of them.

His stomach seized into another sharp pang, and he pressed his hands against it and groaned under his breath. His fingers traced the edge of his ribs, which had begun to protrude again. He wanted to call for Hawke, but his breath was too short.

It wasn’t needed, though. As if summoned by his will, Hawke had appeared at the door, bowl of broth in hand - it smelled of fowl. “Here, love,” she said softly, setting the bowl on the table and adjusting the pillows behind his back so he could sit up.

The moment he was able, he hugged her close, his arms completely wrapped around her and his cheek pressed to hers. “Oh, Lys, sweetheart, you’re my lifeline.” After pressing a lingering kiss to her forehead, he released her and went for the bowl.

It appeared to be a thinner broth, with more water than usual, but still plenty of flavor and meat, from the smell of it. He began by sipping the broth itself, hardly bothering to savor its taste. Only when his immediate hunger had abated did he allow himself to actually sample the meat - it filled his palate like sunlight filled a darkened room. He was forced to lean back and sigh, holding the chunk of poultry in his mouth until the flavor had gone dull. At last, he swallowed it, his eyes lidding with delight. Even Justice could not deny the pleasantness of this sensation, especially when he knew it would serve their need for mana later on. This idea brought a soft smile to the mage’s lips, and he continued to consume the contents of the bowl until it was empty and he was full - very much so, by the feel of it. Setting the bowl aside once more, he nearly tugged Hawke down into the bed with him. “Love,” he cooed, giving her an affectionate squeeze around the waist. “If you’re trying to convince me to let you spoil me…you win this round.”

Hawke assumed her usual position - curled around Anders’ back, arms around his waist. “Finally,” she quipped, tucking her forearms in against the spot where his coat stopped, so he could feel her bare skin against his. Her hands formed a loose triangle against his belly, warming with mana. “I’ve been trying for so long now…the manifesto’s not going to go anywhere, you know.”

The moment he felt that familiar, comforting touch, the tension seemed to flood away from his body entirely. He now lay in that big, wide bed, his need for nourishment more than met and the loving embrace of his partner. “Mmm…” he sighed, tucking his hand down over hers and lacing their fingers together. “Neither am I, if I have my way.” Justice was about to protest, but the sweet notes of Hawke’s magic soaking into their senses gave even him a place to rest, for the time being. It wasn’t just at all to expect Anders to continue to sacrifice when he had already worn himself down so much. The spirit’s approval only enhanced the pleasant atmosphere for his mortal, more so when he made a request for their hand, to slide between Hawke’s.

Hawke began to gently massage warmth and healing into his belly, starting just under his chest and working down. “You’ve been working so hard…you deserve a rest. And _I_ won’t rest until you get it.” To drive her point home, she offered his stomach a tender pat.

Anders had already allowed his eyes to close, and a warm glow to settle over him. “You might not be that far from it, love. Just–” A yawn broke loose, already a sign he wasn’t long for the Fade. “Just…cuddle me more. That might do the trick.” The hand he had lent to Justice wandered up to rest against his heart, and he sighed as he felt the beats slow.

“Can do,” said Hawke, with a soft laugh as she offered a tighter hug around his shoulders. “How’s Justice?” she asked gently, continuing to idly rub the exposed skin of his stomach and chest. It was impossible, by this point, for her to forget the spirit’s presence.

Anders’ slipping consciousness connected Justice further to the Fade, allowing him a bit of greater lucidity. He spoke his desire to Anders to hold Hawke’s hand, and the mage did as instructed. “He’s feeling better now. You’ve been good to us.” The aches in his muscles and his fatigue demanded he stretch out. As he did so, he rolled loose from Hawke and onto his back, which finally allowed him to wrap an arm around her.

She adjusted to his new position, tucking herself into his arm and rolling over to face him. Her hand barely skipped a beat of the soft circles she had been tracing over his abdomen. “Told you I’d take care of you, love.” As confirmation of her promise, she brushed her lips against his jaw and moved the pillows behind him away so he could lie down.

He allowed himself to sink deeper against the pillows, tugging Hawke closer. “You think I ever doubted you?” With a weak but firm tug, he lifted her into his lap and let the pressure of her weight still his and Justice’s nerves. Lying back, he guided her into his arms and hugged her as tight as he could manage with his weakness and exhaustion. Slowly, he raked his fingers through Hawke’s hair, shutting his eyes and only focusing on the tactile sense. Justice filled his fingertips, weaving that familiar melody into his own and his mortal’s awareness. He found it pleasing - comforting, even - and let this be known to Anders. He next asked for the mage’s lips, to press them to the top of Hawke’s head.

Hawke only responded with a soft, contented sigh, following Anders’ lead and stretching herself along his form. Her own eyes had begun to close, but only halfway, as she let gravity carry her down until her ear came to rest on his heart. Any other words from her would break this moment, and these sort of moments were too rare to waste. She counted every beat from his heart, and all the spaces between them, as she took in the warmth of his embrace. A turn of her head let her touch her lips to his pulse, and she let them remain there. In the silence, she could faintly hear his stomach busily digesting the first thing he had eaten in days. A soft, fond smile spread on her lips at this reminder that she had accomplished her goal, and she turned to bury her blushing face in his chest.

The warmth of his lover’s cheeks against his skin brought a glow to Anders’ own, and he rubbed her back in slow, meandering circles. Relief was at last spreading through him, banishing away the aches in his muscles and joints. It was recognizable as the effects of a healing potion. Realizing this, he glanced down at Hawke. “…Love…did you slip me a healing potion in that broth?”

Hawke only turned her head up, wearing the same smile. It widened.

Anders mirrored her expression, giving her an affectionate squeeze. “Ah…how clever you are.” He could no longer resist the urge to let out a rather heavy yawn, and Justice was stirring in his skin. “Mmm…I’ll have some sweeter dreams tonight, for a change.”

A pleasant sigh flowed out of her, and she let herself slide down to his side, without letting go of him. “I do hope so,” she replied, offering a soft kiss to the edge of his jaw. “You certainly deserve them.”

He turned onto his side, allowing Hawke to hold him from behind. Justice stirred up a note of agreement as he let his presence slowly fill his mortal’s vessel. Another yawn broke from him, and he gave her a tired, but affectionate, glance over his shoulder. “…Good night, love.”

Hawke tucked her chin in the bend of his neck, planting a lingering, tender kiss on the apple of his cheek. “‘Night,” she whispered, tucking her arm back around his waist.

A faint blue glow seemed to wander across his skin, growing in size until it covered him entirely. His eyes opened completely, white with Fade light. Justice’s senses awakened to the feeling of Hawke’s familiar melody bathing him in her presence. He let out a slow, muted, weighty hum as his consciousness wrapped around that of the sleeping mortal. **“Hawke…”** he murmured, just so he could feel her name vibrate up from his belly, through his lungs, past his heart, in his throat, and at last on his tongue, with the soft click at the end.

“Hm?” She answered the call of her name, out of habit. “What’s on your mind, Justice?” she asked, bringing her hand up to rest against his pulse.

There was a long silence as the spirit let the sound of her voice flow and churn in his awareness. It was an island in the sea of his dreams, a place where he and Anders could both moor for the night. The voices crying for his nature were still audible, but much more faint. He let out another rumbling, almost purring, sigh. **“You have done well, mortal. I can sense this vessel’s health returning…we will need it for the work ahead.”**

Hawke could not help but smile as she heard Justice’s approval, offering him a gentle but firm embrace. “That work can wait for tomorrow. Your body needs rest too.” To emphasize her point, she let her hand come to rest on his stomach.

Justice wrapped his hand around hers, offering it a brief but rather tight squeeze. **“…Hawke, why do you do this?”** he asked, his tone curious but urgent. **“Why do you engage in these ministrations?”**

The question caught Hawke by surprise - she had never really considered it. “D-do you want me to stop?” she asked, sitting up and moving over so she faced him.

The spirit shook his head. **“I do not _dislike_ it…but I do not know its purpose.” ** Indeed, there was still a sense of warmth radiating through him from the places where her hands had touched.

Her smile returned, and she found herself with a soft blush. “Well…it’s good for Anders,” she explained, mulling carefully over her words. “It feels good, and it helps with some…problems he’s got.”

These words were true, as far as Justice could discern from the memories of his host. **“Yes…Anders feels safe when you do this. It makes him remember that he is real, alive, whole. That you are here, and he is not alone.”** Simply speaking of it would echo his perceptions back to him.

His words filled Hawke’s heart with a certain warmth in the knowledge that her care was appreciated. “What about you?”

Justice seemed to be purring again as he reached for her hand, seeking out the comfort of her touch. **“It means that I need not act. That there is refuge here…and that Justice shall be done.”** His fingers sought out the spaces between hers, closing into them and taking in the sweet, flowing hymn from her skin. The care-worn pads of her hands seemed to cradle his, as if they belonged. **“I feel the Fade singing in your skin. It shields me, shrouds me in warmth. Heals this mortal heart.”** As he spoke, he lowered their joined hands over his chest and let his heartbeat vibrate through their bones. He had grown somewhat accustomed to the pulse, now recognizing that it had a rhythm. _He_ had a rhythm. Sometimes, he would borrow Anders’ hand to feel it. It would start in his chest and spill out in degrees to his fingertips, his feet, his head, carrying with it the raw power that kept his mortal alive. His blood itself carried faint tones, not unlike that of lyrium, but deeper and thicker, like flesh.

Hawke buried her face in his feathers and returned the squeeze of his hand. That the spirit felt safe with her was its own reward, unto itself. “I’m glad to hear.” Carefully, she loosed her hand from his and returned it to his stomach, letting him feel each of her fingers before closing them together and using them to stroke a little circle right under his ribs.

A note of pleasure echoed through his senses, starting from where she touched. It wasn’t carnal pleasure at all - rather, it was that of the simple act of intimate mortal contact. Anders’ experience of it had been unjustly scarce, but even that injustice was being made right. The rhythm of his heart skipped and fluttered, and he let his chest swell with breath, only to be let out in a slow, rumbling sigh that left his vessel feeling heavy. This act was, somehow, even more pleasing, and it spilled heat into his cheeks and soft tones to his lips, which now bore a desire to touch Hawke’s. With Anders asleep, great care had to be taken to manage his own urges.

**“…Hawke,”** he said aloud, rolling onto his back.

“Hm?” she asked, attentive as ever to his needs.

Unsure how to phrase his desire, Justice instead reached in her direction until his fingertips caught her chin. Once he had found her, he embraced her with a single arm and leaned closer to her until their brows met. His glowing, sightless eyes stared into hers, brows subtly loosening.

Fortunately, no words were needed - Hawke could understand him just fine, and she demonstrated by kissing the spirit’s lips. It was a tender kiss, her lips barely parting against his. meant only to show her affection and trust.

His heart was set to an even lighter flutter, and a gentle nocturne united them as he completed his embrace around her, a tight and protective circle of mana, blood and sinews. Fade-cracked lips pressed back against hers, and he tucked his chin over her head. **“Thank you, dear mortal.”**

His gratitude brought an even warmer smile to her face, and her own heart joined his in its capricious pace. She wanted to say there was no need to thank her, but she knew his nature would make him insist. Rather, she turned her lips up to touch a vein in his neck and let him sense her breath against his pulse.

It made his vessel shiver, and he rumbled with approval. A gentle song of freedom seeped into his skin fron hers, and he responded with a firm squeeze around her waist. **“…I hear you, worthy one.”** His voice was heavy and commanding, but carried a sense of protection. **“Your freedom is my cause.”** The words were spoken like a promise. **“And your trust is my reward.”**

His words had more than accomplished their goal in comforting her - she had to wipe tears from her eyes. Anyone, she thought, who would call this spirit an abomination knew nothing about him. Abominations did not hold one in a warm embrace, or speak in such soothing words. “…I’m with you, Justice,” she finally said back to him, rolling over so her back was to his chest and her body lay flush with his own.

The spirit curled his vessel into a protective crescent around the other mage, arms joining together around her waist and knees tucked just under her backside. Anders’ consciousness shifted in its rest, settling into more comfortable surroundings.

Hawke was no longer able to hold back a yawn of her own - she had barely slept in over a day herself, having been tied up running errands for Varric, Anders, Aveline, or her mother.

**“…You are weary as well,”** Justice observed, searching out her hands and cupping them in his own to taste the sound of her magic. **“Rest, now, and dream well. I will watch over you, as I have promised.”**

She wove her fingers into his, letting a bit of her magic spill out into the air around them to ease her nerves into relaxation. A soft sigh spilled out from her lips as she watched the glow of Justice’s aura dance against the wall on the other side of the bed. “…I love you,” she said aloud, virtually out of habit.

The spirit’s initial response was utter silence. The words seemed to have been meant for Anders, but the song was for Justice. When he sensed the mage’s mind shifting to a more pleasant space, he firmed his embrace around her. **“…You are loved, Hawke,”** he finally answered, following the contours of her form with his hands until they came together over her heart. **“Whatever happens in the days to come…you are loved.”** His voice became softer still, vibrating from the space just below his ribs where his awareness normally rested. **“Dream of freedom this night, mage. Know that it is the justice you deserve.”** As he spoke, he could feel his vessel’s vital functions beginning to slip deeper into rest. **“Let mortal cruelties remain in the mortal world.”**

Hawke’s conscious thoughts broke off into a pleasant sigh as she listened to the rumbling of the spirit’s voice, settling in against his presence. Her mind drifted back to Anders for a moment, as she remembered that it was his arms Justice was using to hold her. Thinking of him brought a warm smile to her face and a gentle flutter to her heart. Though they were Anders’ arms, it was Justice’s strength - to have that protection shrouding her was enough to put her worried mind at ease. “How’s Anders?” she asked gently as she let her eyelids begin to drift shut.

**“He sleeps, but does not yet dream,”** the spirit answered, letting his vessel’s muscles relax but still keeping a close hold on Hawke. **“That will take time.”** It was a time Justice could hardly wait for, though - deeper sleep for his mortal meant a return home to the Fade for him, at least for a while. Justice never rests, the saying went, but even spirits needed respite from the suffocation of the mortal world.

She answered with a sigh of relief that dissolved into something of a purr. “That’s good,” she murmured softly into the feathers of his coat as she nuzzled the collar, taking in the familiar smells that had gathered there, of Darktown and the Fade. They wove into her gently fading consciousness, adding a warm note to her melody. “…Take care of him,” she softly implored, letting herself slip away into more pleasant dreams.

As he felt her beginning to drift off toward the Fade, Justice tightened his arms around her, if only for a moment. Times like this would soon become a rare commodity. The suffering of the mages was growing too much for him to abide at all anymore. He would have to take action, at any cost. Hawke being a part of that cost, though, shackled him into hesitation. He knew, faced with that possibility, his vessel’s heart, and possibly mind, would shatter. To win justice for all, he would have to take it away from these mortals, and wound them both terribly in the process. This thought, somehow, kept Anders from slipping completely under, despite his exhaustion. The spirit’s posture became more protective of Hawke still, though in truth he wished the one he was holding and defending was the mortal whose body he shared. A baleful sigh broke from his vessel’s lungs, and he tried to settle into the soft hum of Hawke’s dreams. Perhaps there, they’d find a moment of peace, where no Templars or demons could touch them, and if they did, Justice would be swift and ruthless.


End file.
